


Making a We

by Julibean19



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe, Dead Sheriff Stilinski, Derek Wears Glasses, Derek is a Softie, Domestic, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Non-Graphic Violence, POV Derek, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Past Violence, Single Parent Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Leaves Beacon Hills, Teacher Derek, Werebabies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 02:33:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14126217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julibean19/pseuds/Julibean19
Summary: Derek hates to admit it, but he can always tell which kid is going to be a problem on the first day of school.  He’s been teaching kindergarten at St. Bernard’s Elementary for five years now and knows it’s just as much about learning to play nicely with others as learning the alphabet and basic arithmetic.  Some children are quiet, shy, or lacking in basic social skills but others…There’s always one that drives Derek up a wall, and this year, it’s Erica Prudence Reyes II.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scruffysterek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scruffysterek/gifts).



> My contribution to Sterek Glompfest 2018! 
> 
> I had the pleasure of writing for ScruffySterek who asked for single dad!Stiles and teacher!Derek. I hope you enjoy it! Thank you so much to the organizers for putting this fest together and to my wonderful beta [CaptainVonChan](http://captainvonchan.tumblr.com/)!

Derek hates to admit it, but he can always tell which kid is going to be a problem on the first day of school.  He’s been teaching kindergarten at St. Bernard’s Elementary for five years now and knows it’s just as much about learning to play nicely with others as learning the alphabet and basic arithmetic.  Some children are quiet, shy, or lacking in basic social skills but others…

There’s always one that drives Derek up a wall, and this year, it’s Erica Prudence Reyes II.

The name alone had been enough of a tip-off.  Who saddles a five-year-old with a biblical middle name and a suffix?  Beyond that, Erica is exhausting: a hyperactive, bossy chatterbox who has a problem with authority.  It’s clear to anyone who speaks to her for more than a few minutes that she’s gifted, but has a hard time focusing.  She rules over classroom 107 with both her unbridled imagination and her sharp wit. On the playground, you can hear her coming a mile away. 

She’s a freight train wrapped in a cloud of frizzy blonde curls and a smattering of honey brown freckles.

Derek is no stranger to ADHD and does his best to make sure Erica and her peers get the education they need.  He loves all of his students and takes special care to give them each individualized attention whenever he can, much to the delight of his sisters.  

Laura and Cora have never understood how he could be so gruff with adults but do so well with children.  Uncle Peter teases him mercilessly, telling him he’s just a marshmallow covered in facial hair while also insisting that born wolves shouldn’t concern themselves with rearing the human children of strangers.  His parents, however, they understand him perfectly.

He loves children unabashedly.  He loves their optimism and capacity for kindness.  He loves their thirst for knowledge and their uncomplicated worldviews.  It’s stupid adults Derek has no patience for, especially those who ignore their children.  

Just like Derek can spot a troublemaker on the first day of class, he also has a sixth sense about deadbeat parents.  

Erica Prudence Reyes II’s parents have never once attended an open house or participated in a school fundraiser.  Over the holidays, not so much as a note graced Derek’s desk. Erica’s parents have never volunteered to chaperone a field trip or supervise a school party or parade.

To hear her talk about her father, you’d think the man was a superhero, and Erica raves constantly about how beautiful her mother is and how she inherited the woman’s trademark blonde hair, but Derek hasn’t heard a peep from him or Erica’s namesake since the school year started seven months ago.

They seem to have some pull with the school system though, because whenever Derek asks after them the administration insists that Erica is well taken care of and as long as she isn’t hurt or causing too much trouble, there’s no reason to contact her parents.  

She’s a handful, but her behavior is nothing Derek hasn’t seen before.  He prides himself on his ability to keep his cool even when being shouted at by 25 little miscreants at once and resigns himself to the fact that—at least this year—he will never have perfect silence during nap time.

It’s the first warm day in March when all of that changes.  

The kids have been cooped up for ages.  A severe bout of cold rain kept them from recess for the past four days so by the time Friday rolls around, a glimpse of sun is all it takes to have them racing for the jungle gym.  Derek follows behind, smiling fondly as his kids run and whoop and enjoy themselves. Even Charlie, usually the timid one, is skipping along to join them, an easy reader tucked under his arm.  After following behind at a leisurely pace, Derek sits himself down on a nearby bench and chats amicably with Stacey—one of the third-grade teachers—for a few minutes.

Derek always keeps one eye on the tire swings where most of his kids’ tussles usually break out.  There’s just not enough room for everyone to swing at once and Derek is still working on the concept of taking turns and not getting physical when you have to wait.  Derek’s enhanced hearing really helps him during recess. He has a reputation for being the teacher to stop bullying before it even starts. Unfortunately, he’s also the first to know when someone has an accident and needs new pants.  Being a werewolf kindergarten teacher has its drawbacks.

Stacey is asking after his love life again and Derek is mid-eyeroll when he hears a little voice shriek in pain.  He’s up in a flash, racing toward the sound only to find six of his kids surrounding none other than the instigator herself, Erica.  She has her head ducked down, hidden under her crossed arms but there’s a streak of blood across one elbow so he knows it’s bad.

“Give me some room, please!” Derek calls, sending the rest of his students scurrying backward.  “Stacey? Can you take watch?” he yells across the playground, getting a thumbs up in return. “Erica?” he says softly, kneeling down in the wood chips until he’s on her level.  “What hurts? Can you show me what happened? Where are you bleeding?”

All she does is shake her head and curl further in on herself, tiny fingers clenching down tight on her elbows.

Not one to typically back down from a challenge or a chance to show off, Erica is now really worrying Derek.  “I really need to see, kiddo,” Derek presses, tapping her fingers in a prompt to get her to release their grip.  “We need to get you to the nurse at least.”

“I can’t go to the nurse,” Erica cries, head still buried in her arms, her cascade of blonde curls quivering as she speaks.

“Can you tell me why?” Derek asks, struggling to keep his tone light even as he scans the playground for any sign of what might have happened to her.  A few of his students are still tossing concerned looks in their direction, but most have gone back to their games. Sometimes Derek envies the children’s ability to bounce back.  At just 27, he already feels ancient in comparison.

“I’m not supposed to say,” she mutters, shaking her head.  “Daddy will get mad.”

Derek is baffled.  He just knew Erica’s parents were garbage.  What kind of kid isn’t allowed to go to the school nurse?   _One that’s hiding bruises_ , he says darkly to himself.  

“I promise you it’ll be okay,” he says gently, though he knows it’s a mistake to promise a child anything.  “I’m sure he’d rather you be safe and go to the nurse. Your parents won’t be mad at you after I talk to them.”  

Rip them a new one, more like.  

She lifts her head slightly and Derek thinks maybe he’s convinced her, but before he can catch a glimpse of her eyebrows she’s thinking twice and ducking back down again.

“Erica,” he sighs, puffing air out through his nostrils.  “I’m begging you, kid. In three seconds I’m going to pick you up and carry you to the nurse myself.”  

He watches her take a deep breath and then starts counting.  “One... two—”

“—You promise not to tell?” she practically whimpers.

Derek swears, if this kid is being abused at home he is going to murder someone.  “I will do my best to protect you.  Always,” he says firmly, sidestepping the question.

Ever so slowly, Erica peeks out over her crossed arms.  Derek sees her freckled forehead first, then her wispy, pale eyebrows before she freezes.  He reaches out to brush the hair out of her face and she flinches for half a breath before finally exposing herself, eyes still clenched shut tight.  There’s blood clinging to her cheek and running off her chin, but the wound is half closed up already. It’s a paradox that Derek recognizes instantly.

She’s a wolf.

Or at least some sort of supe.  Derek has met a plethora of supernatural beings including sirens, werefoxes, kitsunes, and fairies.  For a brief time while attending NYU he dated a vampire and Cora has never let him live it down. To this day Peter refers to that ex-boyfriend as Edward.  The Hale family has allies that run the gamut, all the way from demons to some true Harry Potter shit like boggarts, phoenixes, and ghosts.

It should have been his first thought, but supes usually introduce themselves to his mother as soon as they pass through town.  For a wolf to have been in his classroom for seven months without him knowing about it seems ridiculous to Derek. He’s going to need to have a serious chat with Erica’s parents, but for now, all he needs to know is the color of her eyes.  

”It’s okay,” he says with a small smile.  Derek turns so she’s shielded from view by his body and lays a hand on her arm.  “I’m like you.”

“Really?” she asks in shock, eyes flashing open to reveal a bright glowing amber before she realizes her mistake and squeezes them shut again.

Derek has to chuckle, but tries to turn it into a cough when a frown crosses Erica’s freckled face.  Laura’s kids are mostly grown now and don’t have trouble controlling themselves. It’s been a while since he’s seen such a tiny beta wolf.  And really, no offense to his sister, but none of Laura’s kids were ever as clever as Erica.

“Really,” Derek assures her with a smile she can’t see.  “I’m going to pick you up now and bring you inside. You just keep your eyes shut until we’re alone, okay?”

“Okay, Mister Hale,” she says, licking her lips nervously, nose scrunched up in an effort to keep her face muscles tight.

Scooping the little girl up, Derek fits her to his hip and rushes inside, waving a thumbs up at Stacey on the way.  It only takes a minute until Derek has Erica sitting in his chair, door locked and blinds drawn. “It’s safe now,” he tells her, palms on his desk.  

Erica rubs her face with a groan, massaging her eyelids.  “Ouch, that hurts!” she says, wincing. “I was squeezing them shut so tight!”

“Just wait until your fangs come in, then you’ll really be hurting,” Derek jokes, waiting for her to open her yellow eyes again before flashing his own.

She gasps when she sees, scurrying to stand on the desk and touch his cheek.  “Blue! Like Uncle Jackson!”

“Yeah,” he says, already a little concerned about Erica’s family.  Most blue-eyed wolves don’t come by theirs the same way Derek did. “Now let’s get you cleaned up real quick,” he says, realizing that she has a few spatters of blood soaking into her shirt.  Rushing to the closet in the back of the room, Derek pulls out a lost and found bag and rifles through it until he finds a shirt that will probably fit her. He cleans her face with a wet wipe, making sure to hide the evidence under some other trash while Erica dresses herself.

“Your parents can probably get this out,” he says, folding her dirty little shirt and shoving into her cubby.  “Now take a deep breath and think of your anchor. You have an anchor, right?”

She nods repeatedly, curls bouncing around her shoulders.  Her mouth opens and she’s about to blurt something out before he stops her with a finger to her lips.

“You don’t have to tell me what it is if you don’t want to.  Just think about it and focus.”

“Daddy says Mommy makes a good anchor,” she says, hands on her hips, just begging Derek to argue with her.  

It takes a lot of effort but Derek manages to stop himself from correcting that theory.  People are typically bad anchors. Relationships are notoriously unpredictable, even familial ones.  It’s why the Hales train all of their young wolves with a talisman and mantra. Now more than ever, Derek is considering punching one or both of Erica’s parents, if either of them even bothers to respond to his summons, that is.

“Okay, that’s great,” he says instead, smiling encouragingly at her.  “You think about your Mommy and take a really deep breath. In, two, three, four, five,” he breathes along with her, “out, two, three, four, five.”

They repeat this a few times until Derek can hear her heartbeat start to slow down and the amber finally flickers out of her eyes.  Derek notices for perhaps the first time that they’re normally a clear, golden honey brown, the closest natural color to werewolf amber that Derek has ever seen.  

“Better?” he asks as she does the breathing exercise twice more before nodding and giving him a smile.  

“Thanks!” Erica says brightly, dimples appearing on her freckled cheeks.  “You’re a really good teacher, you know that, Mister Hale?”

“Thank you, that’s very kind,” Derek says, chuckling softly at her nonchalance.  Only a kindergartener could bounce back so quickly, completely unconcerned that she just nearly exposed the entire supernatural world on the playground.  Derek’s heart is still beating quickly in his chest as he replays the dozens of ways Erica’s slip in control could have ended in catastrophe. “I learned from the best.”

“Did your Daddy teach you to be a wolf, too?” she asks, hopping off his desk in an awkward little leap and nearly face planting on the linoleum.  For a wolf, she’s surprisingly ungraceful.

To be fair, she can only flash her eyes.  Erica probably only presented as a wolf a few days ago, otherwise Derek would have been able to smell her.  However, he doesn’t remember any of the other kids in his family being quite so accident prone. Derek is going to have to keep a very careful eye on her.  If she gets hurt repeatedly it’s going to be nearly impossible to hide her advanced healing.

”My mother, actually,” Derek says.  “My father was born human.”

Her eyes light up and she opens her mouth to speak before someone tries the door handle, startling them both.  Recess must be over.

“We will talk about this more after school, okay?” Derek says seriously as he strides over to the door to unlock it.  “We’ll come up with a system or something and I’m going to talk to your parents this afternoon if I can. Just hang tight until then.”

“Okay, Mister Hale,” Erica says.  She sounds confident but she’s already chewing on her bottom lip.  “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Derek says, straightening his sweater before unlocking the door.  By the time he turns around Erica is already back at her desk doodling with her crayons.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek’s calls to Mieczysław Stilinski go unanswered, so he tries email.  That gets a reply immediately. 

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.  --Stiles” is all it says.

If Derek was mad before, he’s furious now, silently seething all the way through math time.  By the time the bell rings signaling the end of the day, he’s worked himself into quite a state.  He has a smile on his face but he can feel his nostrils flaring with every breath. This Stiles person better have a very good explanation for his flippant tone and laissez-faire parenting style.

Erica waits by his side as the rest of the children are picked up.  Clearly she’s biting her tongue. She’s an inquisitive kid and probably has a thousand questions for Derek, but to her credit, she’s not even attempting to whisper any of them to him while other people are still around.  Erica is a kid who has been trained to keep a secret, and she’s doing her very best. Still, the entire concept is worrisome.

After the last child has been taken home it dawns on Derek that  _ as soon as I can _ might not be for a while.  “You usually go to the after school program, don’t you?” he asks, trying his hardest to not show his anger.  It isn’t Erica’s fault that her father is absent.

“Yeah,” Erica says with a small quirk of the lips that is trying to pretend to be a smile.  “Daddy has to work late sometimes. But it’s not too bad. I get all my homework done and get to play board games and watch some TV before dinner.  Sometimes we play soccer when it’s nice out.”

The after school program ends at 6 p.m., so with any luck, Derek will only have a few hours to wait with Erica.  He’s just about to suggest that she go on ahead to the cafeteria to play when a lanky man comes running across the street.  

As he comes into view, Derek immediately determines that this must be Erica’s father.  He has the same honey brown eyes and moles all over his face. Maybe there were even more freckles when he was younger.  His hair is also brown, which makes sense because he’s been told repeatedly that Erica’s blonde comes from her mother. 

Stiles is tall.  When he finally stops in front of them, Derek realizes that he has to look up at the man, which only serves to infuriate him further.

“What happened?  Are you okay?” he asks, immediately crouching down and wrapping Erica up in a fierce hug.  

“I’m fine, Daddy,” Erica says, pressing her nose into his throat.  “I promise.”

For a fleeting second, Derek wonders what she smells there.  He scents the air as surreptitiously as he can and only picks up the sour scent of anxiety which overpowers anything else he might hope to find.  Stiles is definitely human though, so Erica’s mother must be the wolf.

“You’re sure?” the man asks again, pulling back to run his hands all over Erica’s tiny face and hair.  “You changed clothes,” he points out.

Derek is pleased by this observation, at least.  Erica’s father must have seen her this morning before school.  Maybe they even had breakfast together.

“Mister Hale helped,” Erica assures her father, looking up at Derek with a smile and then back at Stiles.  

It’s obvious that she’s about to explain exactly how Derek helped, so he cuts her off.  “Why don’t you go to the after school program, Erica?” he suggests, a tight smile on his face.  “They’re probably wondering where you are. Your father will come get you after we’ve talked, alright?”

”Alright…” she says, looking suspiciously between the two of them.  

“It’ll be fine, kiddo,” her father says, leaning down to kiss her on the forehead and then the tip of her upturned nose.  “You’ve got a rematch to win, don’t you?”

“Yes!” she crows.  Her cautious smile turns into a grin as she runs off toward the cafeteria, curls bouncing behind her.

“A rematch?” Derek asks, head tilted to the side as he considers the man.  

He still hasn’t introduced himself but Stiles is apparently Mieczysław Stilinski, father to Erica Prudence Reyes II.  

He’s attractive, Derek decides bitterly, with rectangular framed glasses that could be confused for Derek’s own.  His long arms are covered in a checkered button down shirt and his even longer legs are in dark rinse jeans. When he adjusts his glasses, Derek notices the glint of his wedding ring.

“I’ve been teaching her chess,” Stiles says, folding his arms across his chest.  “She’s almost got a read on Mrs. Kransky.”

“The guidance counselor?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says with a smug smile.  “She’s a bit too aggressive with her bishops still, but we’re working on it.”

“Why don’t you come inside,” Derek says, eyes narrowed.  His anger is slowly giving way to intrigue. Leading Stiles into his classroom, he shuts the door behind them.

Stiles’ eyebrows are so high on his forehead, Derek is almost impressed.  He leans against a tiny student desk and faces Derek before speaking. “Are you going to tell me what it is that was so urgent I needed to rush out of work without explanation?  Or do I have to guess?”

Derek sees immediately where Erica’s attitude comes from, and he’s not happy about it.  

“Well?” Stiles asks, waving his hands around in apparent frustration.

It’s at this moment precisely that Derek decides to have a little fun with Erica’s father.  He’s sick of dealing with parents who don’t seem to have the time to deal with their children, let alone properly train their werewolf six-year-olds not to expose themselves on the playground.

“I’m afraid Erica might have a problem,” he says carefully, plan still half-formed.

“What kind of problem?” Stiles asks, rolling his eyes.  He has to know that Derek is being purposefully obtuse and looks like he’s a few seconds away from committing homicide.  

“This kind of problem,” Derek says with a smirk before shifting and roaring in Stiles’ face.  His ears lengthen and his fangs drop, eyes flashing electric blue as he lunges forward in an effort to scare Stiles off his feet.

It’s enough to rumble the desks and ruffle Stiles’ nicely-gelled hair, but the man barely bats an eyelash.  In fact, he just grips the desk tighter in his hands to steady himself and smirks, shaking his head until Derek stops his posturing.

Derek doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s is a little put out.  It’s not too often he gets to do a big reveal these days and he was looking forward to at least making Stiles yelp or fall over in shock.  

“You done?” Stiles asks, crossing his arms over his chest again.  

“I guess…” Derek says, frowning.  He doesn’t know what else to say. Stiles kind of has him on the back foot now and he doesn’t like that.  Crossing his own arms, Derek straightens up to his full height and narrows his eyes.

“So did Erica shift?” he asks, huffing an exasperated breath out of his nose.  “I assume she got it under control because you didn’t send her home or anything.  Did anyone see? Does anyone suspect? You know I could really use more than a glare from you, big guy—” 

“—Don’t call me that,” Derek says gruffly.  “I’m not your big guy. We’re not friends. I’m your daughter’s teacher and I would appreciate a little respect.”

“You want respect?  Stop with the tough guy routine and talk to me about my kid!  Do I need to go get her and bring her home or what? She seemed okay!”

“You’ve got a lot to learn about raising werewolves, Mister Stilinski.”

“Mister Stilinski was my father.  My name is Stiles. Now cut the crap and tell me what happened!”

“What happened is your daughter got hurt on the playground and didn’t know what to do!  She curled up into a ball and hid and I had to talk her down so the whole school wouldn’t see her eyes flashing amber!” Derek hisses, trying to keep his voice down.  

The school should be deserted apart from the cafeteria and the gym but that doesn’t mean someone couldn’t overhear.  He’s probably already aroused suspicion by growling at Stiles. Derek can’t afford to let his anger get the best of him.  He knows better than that. In fact, that’s exactly what he’s been trying to prove to Stiles and Erica all day. 

He knows better.

Stiles’ body relaxes slightly, but he’s still pissed off.  If his scent weren’t enough to tell Derek that much, his hand gestures certainly would be.  “It was just a little slip!” he shouts, getting defensive. “I’ll work with her some more and it won’t happen again.  I’ll take care of it.”

“You don’t know how to take care of it!” Derek argues.  “If your wife is the wolf why isn’t she training Erica? Humans aren’t meant to train wolves!  They don’t know what it’s like!”

“My wife isn’t training Erica because she’s dead,” Stiles says, stone cold.  “Which you would know if you listened to your students half as well as you seem to think you do.”

“I—”

“—Don’t even try to apologize, you asshole,” Stiles growls.  “You don’t know the first thing about me or my family, so get off your damn high horse.”

“I know you should have told my mother if you knew you were bringing a new wolf into her territory.  That’s really bad werewolf etiquette,” Derek says, though he knows he’s grasping at straws. He lost any leverage he had in this conversation the moment Stiles refused to cower before his wolf. 

“Listen here, buddy,” Stiles says, pushing off the desk to crowd into Derek’s space.  He smacks Derek’s chest with the back of his hand and walks forward until Derek is forced to back up into his desk and sit down on it.  “I may be human, but I’ve trained werewolves before and I can do it again. I don’t need you or your pack. I’ve got my own.”

“Why isn’t her Alpha helping you then?” Derek asks, squaring his shoulders and pushing back.  “Her lack of control is unacceptable. If she can’t keep it together she should be homeschooled.  You’re going to get us all killed.”

“Not that it’s any of your fucking business but her Alpha is a True Alpha that I trained myself before I was even out of high school.  I can do this.”

“A True Alpha?” Derek hates himself for being impressed, but he can’t keep the shock out of his voice.  As far as his pack knows, there hasn’t been a True Alpha for hundreds of years. Where has Stiles been hiding this Alpha?  Who are these people? A true Alpha and an uncle with blue eyes? What kind of pack is Erica in?

“Yeah,” Stiles says, smirk growing.  “A True Alpha. So like I said, I don’t need your help.  I’m taking Erica home now. She’ll be fine on Monday. You’ll see.”  Then he turns on his heel and stomps to the door, tripping over his own feet on the way and slamming his forehead into the molding.

Derek is feeling vindictive and laughs aloud.  “Don’t come crawling to me when you can’t keep her from dropping her fangs at lunch,” he calls, shaking his head as Stiles shoots him a murderous look before slamming the door behind him.

Massaging his temples, Derek groans.  That could have gone better. 


	3. Chapter 3

Bright and early Derek leaves his loft and heads to his parents’ house.  The Hale Manor was built by his great-great-grandfather and has enough bedrooms that most of the immediate family still resides there.  Derek and Cora are the only ones who have moved out and stayed out. Even Uncle Peter and his girlfriend are still living under the same roof as his Alpha and sister.  Still, Saturday morning breakfast is a family tradition and Derek drags his ass out of bed every week at 7 a.m. to help make the pancakes before the kids wake up.

The door is always unlocked, so Derek lets himself into the kitchen and finds his parents sipping what Derek knows to be their second cups of coffee.  

“Good morning, sweetheart,” his mother says with a soft smile, handing him an empty mug.  “You smell tired.”

“I am tired,” Derek says, filling the cup from the pot and adding milk.  

“Work trouble or boy trouble?” his father asks, raising his eyebrows and giving Derek a mischievous smile.

“Work trouble,” Derek says, though the real answer is  _ both _ .  Stiles is a boy and he seems to be trouble.  He slips into his usual chair and takes a sip of his coffee.  The drink gives him just enough energy to get into it with his parents.  “One of my students is a wolf.”

“Really?” Mom asks, back straightening as her interest grows.  “Which one? Not the little blonde genius,” she adds, frowning but unsurprised.

Derek taps his nose in lieu of speaking.  He’d been up all night worrying about Erica and Stiles and what he should do about them.  His beard is in desperate need of a trim and he probably feels even worse than he looks. A bigger man might email Stiles and apologize, but Derek has already nixed that plan for fear he’ll look desperate and possibly insane.

“What’s her name?  Alicia?” Dad asks, arching his back in a stretch and rolling his head on his neck.

“Erica,” Derek corrects him easily.  “Erica Prudence Reyes II,” he adds, scratching the overgrown hair on his throat.

“Quite a name for such a little girl,” Mom says, tucking her long brown hair behind her ears.  “What happened to her mother?”

“How do you know something happened to her mother?” Derek asks immediately, setting his mug down on the table with more force than necessary.  Coffee splashes onto the scrubbed wood table settling into the nooks and crannies of the old, worn boards. For a moment, Derek wonders how many cups have been spilled here, how many family meals this table has seen, how long it’s been standing in this exact spot in the Manor.

“Are you a teacher or not, Derek?” she says in that tone that mothers always seem to have, annoyance just barely tempered with underlying fondness.  

“I don’t understand,” he says.  Taking off his glasses, he wipes them on the hem of his tee shirt and resettles them on his face.  His vision is perfect, but he wears the glasses for the kids. It’s become habit, a good way to hide.  Paired with a cozy sweater, the glasses do something to soften his looks. Derek doesn’t want to be the scary kindergarten teacher that sends kids home crying to their parents on the first day of school.

“You only become a so-and-so the second if the person you’re named after is dead.  Otherwise you’re a junior. It could have been the girl’s grandmother or another older relation with the exact same name but odds are good she’s missing her mother.”

“Oh,” Derek says.

“Yes.  ‘Oh,’” his mother repeats and then purses her lips. 

“Fuck,” Derek groans, burying his head in his hands and massaging his forehead.  “I made such an ass of myself.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad—”

“—Really?  What did you do?”  

Derek can’t help but roll his eyes as his parents speak over each other.  They are so married it hurts. He wonders if he’ll ever get to that point with someone, that level of fondness and familiarity that only comes from over thirty years together.  “It was exactly that bad. But I’m not telling you what happened.” 

“Lame,” Dad says, frowning at him.  

“Leave him alone, Joe,” Mom says, smacking him playfully on the arm.  “Did you smell her or did something happen? Does she need help training?  Why didn’t I hear from her other parent?” she asks rapid fire, turning back to Derek.

“I don’t know why you didn’t hear from them but I don’t think she needs your help.  At least not yet,” Derek says, eyebrows drawn tight together. He’s frowning into his coffee again and can feel the way he’s clenching his jaw.  It’s enough to make his entire face hurt and that just makes him think of Erica again and how she rubbed the tension out of her chubby little face after her shift.  

Derek doesn’t want to examine his feelings about the girl too closely because he’s pretty sure he knows exactly what they are.  He’s getting attached. After only one encounter with her wolf, Derek wants to train Erica personally. There’s just one little problem with that.

“You want to fuck her dad, don’t you?” Dad asks, a wide, bright smile on his face.  

“What?” Derek balks, head shooting up abruptly.  

“You totally do, oh my God,” Dad says, laughing and banging on the table.  “I was only half-serious but you totally do.”

“Joseph!  Manners!” Mom says, punching him in the arm this time.  It’s hard too, hard enough that he pulls back and rubs at his bicep.  “You’re worse than the kids, I swear!”

“I hate you so much,” Derek groans, pushing away from the table to get himself another cup of coffee, but really they all know he’s just hiding his blush.  

“Who do we hate this morning?” Peter’s voice drifts in from the hall.  “Or is it just everyone as usual, dear nephew?” he says, coming up behind Derek to rub his shoulders.

“Everyone in this room, at least,” Derek says, shrugging his uncle off his back.  

”That’s the spirit!” Peter laughs, smacking him on the back again.  “You know, if the rest of us all actually teamed up, we could take them,” he says, tossing his head toward Derek’s parents.  

“Speak for yourself, Peter,” Laura says, entering the room with Marisol close behind.  “Last time I sparred with Mom I was laid out for a week.”

“That was one on one,” Peter argues.  “I’m talking about teamwork. Six on one.  It’s about pack tactics, you imbeciles.”

“You’re not supposed to call us stupid,” Marisol says, hopping up on a stool at the island.  “Alpha house rules,” she adds, smiling at her grandmother when she’s passed a glass of milk. 

“Brown-noser,” Peter mutters, shooting daggers at her.

Marisol waits until she thinks no one is looking and then flips Peter off.

“You little—” he says, grabbing her off the stool and tossing her into the air.  “What do you think, Derek? Should I throw her in the creek?”

“I’d just take her phone and make her Facebook request to be in a relationship with Danny Stinson, personally,” Derek says, smirking at his thirteen-year-old niece who is now being hung upside down by Peter.

“Mom!” she shrieks, hair brushing the floor as Peter swings her to and fro.  “Make them stop!” 

“Stop giving your uncle the finger and maybe I would,” Laura says, nonchalantly sipping her coffee.  

“Dad!  Help!” Marisol yells when Derek grabs her feet and the two of them start swinging her around like a hammock. 

“Little busy, kid!” Seb calls from upstairs.  “Can’t you take them yourself?”

“Ugh!” she huffs.  “Once I’m old enough to get the bite from Nana Talia you’re gonna be so sorry!”

“Cry me a river,” her father answers from the doorway this time, Mateo hanging off his back and Elena to one arm.  

It’s chaos for a few minutes because Marisol’s siblings hop off their father to tickle her.  Derek’s father dives in as well and it’s a free-for-all on the kitchen rug complete with growling and battle stances and Uncle Peter threatening the kids with his claws.  

Eventually, Cora’s motorcycle can be heard coming through the preserve and by the time she bursts in through the kitchen door in her combat boots with a hickey on her throat the kids’ ruckus has been forgotten in favor of grilling her about who it came from.

“That could be you,” Dad says, bumping Derek with his shoulder as he measures out the buttermilk and flour.  “All you have to do is get your head out of your ass long enough to ask the guy out.”

“I’ll pass,” Derek says, whisking the batter with more force than is really necessary.  He’s going to have flat pancakes now. “His daughter is my student anyway.”

“Not for long she’s not.  Only a few months left in the year, aren’t there?”

“I guess…” Derek admits.  “But I’m not sure. I kind of hate him.”

“Sometimes that’s good, though,” Dad says, tossing a carton of blueberries into the bowl just the way he knows Derek hates.  He prefers to drop them onto the pancakes once they’re on the griddle so they’re evenly distributed. “Hatesex can be the best sex.”

“Please stop talking before I punch you,” Derek groans, blushing hard again.  

“Peter,” Mom says, pushing Dad out of the way.  “Go get Chloe. Breakfast is almost ready.”

“No, it’s not,” Derek mutters to her as Peter darts around everyone to get upstairs.  The bacon isn’t even out of the fridge yet. 

“I know, but they’re going to be a while,” she says, shrugging her shoulder.  

The teapot whistles and the wolves all groan.  Peter is the one who usually remembers to shut the burner off before it boils. 

“Gross, not again!” Mateo says, reaching across Derek’s bowl for a strawberry.  

“I hate you all,” Derek says, hiding himself in the refrigerator as he searches for the bacon.  

“No, you don’t!” Elena says, barreling into his side for a hug.  “You’re my favorite uncle!”

“I’m your only uncle,” Derek mutters into her hair as he squeezes her.  

“That’s just because Dad doesn’t have any brothers.  But if he did, I think you’d still be my favorite,” she says, opening a vegetable drawer and pulling out the bacon after digging under some broccoli.  She’s always had the best nose of them all.

“Thanks, kiddo,” Derek says, taking the offered packages and turning toward the stove.  

“Technically, Peter is also your uncle,” Cora says as she fiddles with her tea infuser.

“What’s your point?” Elena says, a small smirk passing her lips.

The entire family shares a laugh and Derek joins in, shaking his head but still chuckling.  He lays out the bacon across three sheet pans and sticks it in the oven, all the while listening as the sounds and smells of family whirl around him.  He hates them, but he wouldn’t give them up for anything. As he butters the griddle he starts to wonder what Stiles’ and Erica’s family looks like.


	4. Chapter 4

On Monday, Derek goes over a secret signal with Erica.  

If she’s feeling overwhelmed or thinks she might shift her eyes, she is to tug on her ear and whisper “Mayday” to him.  Derek is surprised by the choice of safeword, but he let Erica pick it herself and that’s what she came up with. They practice until he’s sure she can say it so quietly no one but a wolf would be able to hear.  If her eyes start glowing in class, Erica is to head to the closet in the corner of the room and pretend she’s looking for something until Derek can help her. It’s not a perfect system, but it should work well enough.

Derek waits for the other shoe to drop, but it never does.  Weeks go by. March bleeds into April and nothing happens. Erica is her usual exuberant self, but she doesn’t flash her eyes again and she’s more careful on the playground.  Her scent develops further, but otherwise Derek would have no idea that there’s anything unusual about her. 

Instead of constantly worrying about her safety, Derek finds that he’s proud.  It’s not easy to hide who you really are, but Erica is doing it without closing in on herself.  She’s just as loud, just as fidgety, just as playful, but she’s somehow in control.

Derek’s just beginning to think that maybe Stiles is a better werewolf trainer than he gave him credit for when things go awry.  

Every Wednesday, Derek gives a spelling quiz.  It’s all basic stuff, three and four letter words mostly, but since it’s three-quarters of the way through the year, he decides it’s time to add a bonus question off the first grade spelling list.

It’s fascinating, the way his kids learn.  Some keep their head down as he asks them to spell, “ _ Good _ ,” but others stare at him intently, watching his mouth move as he uses it in a sentence.  “These are  _ good _ cookies.  We are all  _ good _ at spelling.   _ Good _ .”

He waits for everyone to finish scratching at their papers with their chubby little pencils.  Charlie is always done first, but Erica is never far behind. Hazel takes her time, erasing slowly when she makes a mistake and carefully redrawing her letters.  When she’s finally done, Derek checks his list and smiles. This one is going to be hard and he can’t wait to hear the groans.

“We’re going to do a bonus question from now on,” he says.  “That means it’s a hard question, but you don’t lose any points if you get it wrong.  It only gives you points if you get it right, so even if you don’t know, just take a guess.  You might surprise yourself. The next word is  _ mistake _ ,” he says, enjoying the confused looks he gets.  

Several kids mutter angrily about the challenge.  Even Charlie’s mouth drops open. Erica’s brow is furrowed together so tight Derek almost wants to laugh.

“Remember, just sound it out and do your best.  This is a first grade word. I don’t expect you to get it exactly right.   _ Mistake _ ,” he repeats.  “We use our eraser when we make a  _ mistake _ .  It was a  _ mistake _ to go to the beach when it was rainy.   _ Mistake. _ ”  Derek surveys the room, watching carefully as Clara and Mike share a frustrated look at the difficult word.  

Then his nose twitches.  

It’s something sour, very sour.  The scent is a combination of curdled milk and rancid cabbage and it’s coming directly from Erica.  It isn’t just test anxiety. Whatever’s troubling Erica is closer to despair. 

When his head snaps in her direction, he notices immediately that Erica’s claws have emerged.  Thankfully, almost everyone else is focused on their papers. Only Charlie is finished and looking up at Derek for further instruction.  

“Everyone take a few minutes to double check your work.  Make sure you’ve crossed all your Ts and dotted your Is,” Derek says with a smile, buying time.  Very slowly, he walks toward Erica’s desk and crouches down to her level.

Her claws are small still, only protruding a half an inch from the tips of her fingers, but it would still be obvious to anyone looking that there’s something strange happening.  The sharp edges dig into her oversized pencil every time she takes a breath creating a small pile of wood shavings on her paper. When she finally meets Derek’s eyes they’re the usual brown but wide with fear.

“Erica?” he asks, doing his best to block her from view.  “Why don’t you put the pencil down and close your hands, okay?”

Breathing deeply through her nose, she bites down on her bottom lip and slowly withdraws her claws from the wood.  As soon as they’re free, she closes her hands into fists and hides them under her desk. 

“Good, that’s really good,” Derek says softly with a reassuring smile.  “Just wait a few minutes and we’ll work on it. Close your eyes if you have to.  It’s all going to be fine,” he adds, pushing back to standing. 

“Everyone finished?” he asks brightly, striding back to the front of the room.  “Okay, great!” he says, glancing up at the clock once he’s gotten a chorus of assent.  “You did such a nice job staying quiet during quiz time, I think we should go to lunch early!”

It’s spaghetti and meatballs in the cafeteria today, so some of his kids are particularly enthused by this idea.  “Liam, you’re first in line today. Why don’t you lead everyone down to the cafeteria and ask Ms. Bruckle how to spell  _ mistake _ , okay?  I’ll be right there.”

A few of his students look like they’re going to wait for Erica before leaving, so he has to say, “Erica will come with me in a minute.  We’re going to collect the quizzes. Go on ahead.”

Once Charlie picks out his lunchtime reading and leaves, Derek closes the door and locks it.  “Are you okay?” he asks immediately. “Can you show me your hands?”

Erica looks close to tears but is still somehow holding it together.  She takes in another deep breath through her nose and stops chewing on her lip long enough to exhale through her mouth.  When she puts her hands down on her desk, the claws are still there.

“It’s okay.  You can cry if you have to.  We can work it out,” Derek says, taking the chair from the desk in front of her and straddling it.  “Has this happened before?”

She nods, tears escaping the corners of her eyes even as she continues her breathing exercise.  

“And the breathing usually helps?” Derek asks, putting his hands on the desk palm up and extending his own claws.  

“It’s not working,” she says, brow furrowed as she leans forward and ever so carefully draws one of her claws down Derek’s palm and down his middle finger to tap on the underside of his claw.  “How do you do it?”

“Both of my parents are wolves.  Most of my family is, really, and my mom is the Alpha.  So when I was a kid she would help us with a mantra. Do you know what a mantra is?” Derek asks, lips twitching in amusement as she continues to trace along his palms with her claws.  It tickles. It’s been a long time since someone has managed to tickle Derek.  With all the kids in his family, it’s usually Derek that does the tickling. 

“No,” she says, shaking her head again and chewing on the inside of her cheek this time.  “Explain it to me?”

Derek has to smile at that.  As problematic as Erica has been at times, her thirst for knowledge has never been a question.  

“It’s a phrase that you repeat over and over again.  If you focus on the words and keep saying them in your mind, or even out loud, they can help you.  Sometimes my mother used an object too, an item you could hold and squeeze and think about. I’ll talk to your dad about that later, but for now let’s work on the mantra, okay?”

“Okay,” she says, taking another deep breath.  “What are the words?”

“It’s kind of a riddle, actually,” Derek says, shivering as she switches to stroking his right palm.  “You like riddles, don’t you?”

“Daddy gives me riddles all the time,” she says, curls bouncing as she nods.

“Okay, this one might be tough but if you don’t get it I’ll tell you the answer,” he says, wondering if he should change the phrasing to make it easier to understand.  “What three things cannot long be hidden?” Derek asks, going with the original. It seems wrong to bastardize and that’s the way his mother taught it to him when he was Erica’s age anyway.

Erica stares at him, her tongue peeking out the corner of her mouth as she ponders his words, claws still moving gently over the undersides of Derek’s fingers.  

It’s painfully endearing and while Derek has no trouble waiting for her, he’s not sure she’s going to get it.  “One of them has to do with being a wolf,” he says. “The other is it’s opposite. And the third one is a concept.  As a wolf, it’s hard to hide from…?”

“The truth!” Erica exclaims, lurching forward so fast she accidentally jabs him in the finger with her claw.  

Wincing ever so slightly, Derek pulls his hand back and sucks on his finger for a second until it stops bleeding.  “I was going for moon,” he says, replacing his hand on the table. Derek has no idea how she got truth before moon, but at this point he shouldn’t be surprised that Erica can come up with the hardest answer first.  

“I’m sorry!” she yelps, but then leans forward again to inspect Derek’s healed finger.  “I should train with you more,” she says absently. “I keep hurting Daddy on accident and he doesn’t heal.”

“I’ll talk to him about it later,” Derek says, knowing lunch time won’t last forever and that he really needs to get Erica’s claws away so she can eat some spaghetti before recess.  “Why don’t you tell me how you got  _ the truth _ ?”

“Daddy says grandpa used to be a police officer,” she says, keeping her hands to herself now, palms flat on the table.  “He’s really good at solving mysteries. When we read Nancy Drew he always knows who did it.”

“You’ve been reading Nancy Drew?” Derek asks, though again, he’s not sure why he’s surprised.  It seems he really did have the wrong impression of Stiles and his parenting skills. Maybe a more formal apology wouldn’t be out of line.  If Stiles gives him the time of day, that is.

“Daddy reads a chapter every night before bed.  I can’t do all the words yet, but there are pictures sometimes,” she says with a small frown, like she’s disappointed that she can’t read whole novels at age six.  

“That’s great,” Derek says.  “Mysteries are always fun.”

“So it’s the truth and what else?” she asks, determined to get the rest of the answer out of Derek.

“The sun, the moon, and the truth,” Derek says.  “The sun and moon hide while the other one is out, but they always come back.  Just like the truth is hard to hide. Right?”

“Right,” she says, tapping her claws on her desk, eyeing him with barely contained excitement.  

“So take a deep breath and think about the words.  What are the three things that cannot long be hidden?  The sun, the moon, the truth,” Derek repeats until she starts saying it herself.

“The sun, the moon, the truth.  The sun, the moon, the truth,” she babbles, fingers still tapping on the table top.

“Slower, and try to relax,” Derek says, stilling her hands with his own.  “Keep doing the breathing that your dad taught you. Inhale, exhale, the sun, inhale, exhale, the moon… there you go,” he praises her when she starts following along.

Smiling encouragingly, Derek holds Erica’s gaze.  Her eyes are sharp and bright, fierce in their focus.  For a moment, Derek feels like he’s caught in a trap of his own making, drawn in by her adorable freckled face, still round with youth.  He did this, forced this connection, but she’s pulling it taut like a lasso around his chest. 

Nodding along in time with her words, Derek waits.  On the sixth repetition, he hears it. Her claws start to retract—a slow drag of keratin against soft skin instead of the quick  _ snick _ that usually accompanies their release.  It’s difficult, but he fights the urge to look down and check that they’re gone.  Instead, they continue staring at each other, breathing together a few more times until the spell is broken.

Erica looks down at her own hands and whoops for joy when she finds that her claws are gone.  “YES!” she crows, pumping a fist into the air. “I DID IT!”

“You did!” Derek smiles, holding out a hand for a high five.  “That was a great job! You took your time and you focused,” he says, raising his eyebrows slightly when she smacks his hand and then twines their fingers together and holds it.

“Thank you, Mister Hale,” Erica says, a smug look of satisfaction on her face.  

“You’re welcome, Erica,” he replies, squeezing her tiny hand once before releasing.  “If you’re feeling okay, you can go to lunch, but I have one question for you first.”

“Shoot,” she says, pointing at him with both hands.  

“Can you tell me what it was that made you so upset?  So we can try to avoid it in the future?”

Biting on her lip, Erica looks away.  

“You don’t have to be embarrassed.  I just want to know so I can help you faster next time,” Derek says as gently as he can.

She takes a few seconds but meets his eyes again.  Brushing her hair out of her face she appraises him, deciding if he’s completely trustworthy.

He wants to tell her that whatever it is he won’t tell her father, but he knows that’s not a promise he could keep.  So instead, Derek waits her out. 

“It was the word,” she says eventually.  “I don’t like that word.”

“Mistake?” Derek asks, tilting his head as he considers it.  “It’s okay to make mistakes, Erica. Everyone makes mistakes.  You don’t have to be afraid of the word.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head repeatedly, always so forceful with her body language.  “I’ve been called that before. I don’t like it.”

“Who called you a mistake, Erica?” 

“Just… people,” she says, shrugging her shoulders.

“But not your daddy, right?” Derek asks carefully.

“No.”  Erica says it definitively, so Derek can relax just a little bit.  “I just hear it sometimes. That my mommy having me was a mistake.”

“That’s not true, Erica.  It’s not true at all,” he says, holding out his hand on her desk again in case she wants to take it.  “Your daddy loves you, and your mommy… I’m sure she loved you, too.”

It takes a moment, but Erica swallows and reaches out with her hand, tracing his palm with perfectly human fingertips this time.  She stares at the lines on his hand with great intent, refusing to meet his eyes. 

“Love isn’t a mistake,” he tells her plainly.  “Family isn’t a mistake,” he says, clear as day.  “You were not a mistake. I promise you. You are wonderful and kind and strong.  Maybe we’re a little different, but being a wolf doesn’t make you a mistake. Okay?”

“Okay,” she says, shrugging her shoulders again and continuing to trace his palm.

“Look at me, Erica,” Derek says, desperately needing her to understand.  

When she looks up, her eyes are a little watery but still that beautiful honey brown.  

“No one gets to call you a mistake.  No one. Children are little miracles, no matter when they happen.  I think your dad would agree with me,” he says, taking hold of her hand.

She nods this time, eyes wide with wonder as she takes in his words.  “I love daddy so much,” she says, a tear escaping. Clamoring over the table top, she flings herself into Derek’s arms.  

He catches her easily, pulling her to his chest over top of the tiny chair he sits in.  “He loves you, too,” Derek says, unable to stop himself from scenting the top of her head with his stubbly cheek.  “He loves you more than anything.”

This isn’t really appropriate.  Derek doesn’t cuddle his students.  He gets hugs from many of them, but werewolf scenting feels like crossing some sort of line.  Still, he allows Erica to burrow her tiny upturned nose into his sweater and dry her tears. If this is what she needs, he wants to give it to her, no matter the repercussions.  

A minute passes, but her scent slowly shifts from sour to neutral—just children’s shampoo and a hint of something soft and warm that must be Stiles and their home.  “I’m hungry,” she murmurs, pulling away from him. 

Derek releases her, letting her stand and tuck her curls behind her ears.  “You still have ten minutes to eat,” he says, checking his watch. “Go run down to the cafeteria and I’ll meet you there.”

“Thanks, Mister Hale,” she shouts cheerfully, unlocking the door and dashing off down the hall, heavy footsteps slapping against linoleum all the way.  

Shaking his head, Derek collects the spelling quizzes and peruses them quickly as he sits down at his desk.  As he opens his email to start writing to Stiles again he notices that Charlie did manage to spell  _ mistake _ correctly and while Erica didn’t finish the bonus question, the rest of hers is perfect.


	5. Chapter 5

This time, Derek makes sure to tell Stiles that nothing is wrong but that Erica had another “incident” and he would like to speak to him again.  He sends Erica off to the after school program with trepidation. Before the spelling test, he really hadn’t been worrying about her, but now it’s uncomfortable for Derek to let her out of his sight.  He doesn’t know how Stiles sends her to school every day without having a mental breakdown.

He’s just finishing up a more challenging reading list for Charlie’s parents when he hears footsteps approaching.  Stiles appears in the doorway of classroom 107, a fist held up to knock on the doorframe, though he really needn’t bother.  For someone who is raising a werewolf, he sure seems to forget the basics.

“You wanted to talk?” Stiles says, entering the room and closing the door behind him.

“I think we need to discuss changing Erica’s training routine,” Derek says, pushing away from his computer and walking around it to lean against the edge.  

Stiles mimics his pose, putting them in the same positions as the last time they spoke.  

It feels wrong to Derek somehow—too hostile, so he moves to the corner of the room they use for storytime and plops himself down on his beanbag, gesturing for Stiles to join him.

The man rolls his eyes and huffs out a sigh but relents, folding himself into a ball on top of another beanbag with his knees up near his chin.  

“Well?” Stiles asks.  He looks ridiculous, his long limbs just not meant for such tiny furniture.

Derek is used to it and fits the scene in his soft cardigan and khakis.  In comparison, Stiles’ movements scream discomfort. Clearly he’d like nothing more than to bolt from the room and never return.

“Erica’s claws emerged today during a spelling quiz,” he explains to Stiles, pushing his glasses up his nose and resting his hands on one bent knee.  “I was able to get the rest of the class out of the room and to lunch before they noticed, but it took ten minutes for her to calm down. That can’t happen again.”  

“You’re sure nobody saw?” Stiles asks, eyes narrowing behind his glasses.  

“I’m a werewolf,” Derek says, deadpan.  

“Alright, alright, fine,” Stiles allows, holding up his hands.  “She had been doing so well, though,” he groans, rubbing his forehead.  “Last week we started scent training and she finds the snacks every time!”

“She’s not a fucking dog!  She’s a kid! What the hell are you teaching her?”

“I’m teaching her to blend in and only use her senses when she needs them for something,” Stiles says, gesticulating wildly with her hands.  “I’m trying to let her live a normal life. I don’t want her looking over her shoulder for the next big bad. That’s why we came back here in the first place!”

Derek is clearly missing something.  “I think you need to back up for a few minutes,” he says, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I can’t believe you’re trying to pull some Clark Kent bullshit with those.  It’s such a cliche,” Stiles says, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

It’s such a familiar expression Derek has to do a double take, superimposing Erica’s blonde curls on Stiles’ face.  Like father, like daughter—the body language is eerily similar.

“The kids like me to look soft and cuddly,” Derek says, crossing his arms over his chest, glasses still dangling from his fingers.  “It’s not for your benefit. It’s for theirs.”

“Your teddy bear routine leaves something to be desired,” Stiles shoots back, still painfully unimpressed.  

“Would you please just tell me so I can understand where she’s coming from?” Derek asks, growing impatient.  “I can’t help her unless I know how.”

“God, you are so annoying with your stupid beard.  Fine! I’ll give you the cliff’s notes version,” Stiles says, inhaling deeply.  “Nemeton. Nogitsune. Alpha Pack. Lots of death and destruction. I won’t bore you with the details—”

“—Wait,” Derek cuts in.  “A nogitsune? Are you serious?  Those are—”

“—Thousand-year-old chaos demons?” Stiles finishes.  “Yeah, I’m well aware. I was possessed by one,” he says, crossing his arms and glaring at Derek.  “It’s a long story.”

“You were possessed by a nogitsune?”

“I was also taken by the Wild Hunt once.  Don’t even get me started about those fuckers.  There was this giant beast werewolf that got resurrected by some crazy steampunk Fascist doctors, a Darach,” he starts counting them off on his fingers.  “Berserkers, Chimeras, a Kanima, and all sorts of other horrible shit. We kind of lived on a Hellmouth. That’s part of the reason I left town with Erica.”

Derek can barely believe his ears.  How far away did Stiles live? Why hadn’t his mother heard about Stiles’ pack and the trouble they were having.  She would have tried to help. Didn’t Stiles’ True Alpha have any allies? How many people died while Stiles’ pack struggled to survive?  

Derek has a thousand questions, but right now there’s one that really outweighs the others.  “What about Erica’s mother?” he asks.

“Alpha Pack,” Stiles says, answering quickly like the memory is still fresh, picked right off the top of the list of lost loved ones.  His voice softens and his scent sharpens into the same sour stink Erica had earlier. “Fatal blood loss,” he explains. “She died before Erica was even born.  I delivered her myself. It was horrible.”

“I—” Derek has no idea what to say.  Stiles’ story is shocking and he feels terrible for the way he’s acted, but giving an apology now would be cheap and impolite.  

“It’s okay,” Stiles says, looking down at his hands where his wedding ring still sits.  “I’ve seen a lot of death… caused a lot of death…” he trails off. “My father died recently as well.  That’s when I decided to move back to Beacon Hills. It has some nice memories still. Both my parents are buried here now.”

“I want to help,” is all Derek can muster.  “Please, let me help. My mother and my family—” he stops himself.  He doesn’t need to rub his happy, living family into Stiles’ face, not after all the sorrow the man’s been through.  “I want Erica to thrive here. She’s really trying, but I can’t have her flashing fangs at the rest of the class during recess.

“I guess I could use some pointers…” Stiles admits through a clenched jaw.  “Everyone else in my pack was bitten. I’ve never trained a born wolf before, and especially not a child.  I didn’t think it would be any different, but it is.”

“That’s what I tried to tell you before,” Derek says, rubbing his eyes one more time before replacing his glasses.  

“I can’t believe you’re trying to ‘I told you so’ me right now.  She’s doing fine! I just need to work with her a little more,” Stiles says, throwing his hands up in the air.  

“She got triggered by the word _mistake_ , Stiles.  She’s not doing _that_ well,” Derek points out, shifting his weight in his beanbag to get more comfortable.  “It was psychological, not physical.”

“Fuck,” Stiles says bluntly, squeezing his eyes shut and biting his lower lip.  

“She said people have called her a mistake before and that it makes her upset.”

“I do not call her that.  I have never called my daughter a mistake,” Stiles says, tone clipped.  He straightens his back as much as he can while sitting in a child-sized beanbag and looks ready to throw down with Derek if necessary.

“I know that,” Derek says, voice even.  “Erica told me that and I believed her. Of course you love your child, Stiles.”

“You didn’t seem to think so when we first met,” Stiles says, looking for a fight.

“And I was wrong.  I’m sorry,” Derek says clearly, holding Stiles’ gaze.  

His eyes are that same honey brown, but they’re weary with age and experience.  Stiles has seen things Derek could never hope to understand—things he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.  

“You don’t look like someone who apologizes easily,” Stiles observes.

“Well, you don’t look like someone who runs with wolves,” Derek replies.  “So I guess we’re both a little more than meets the eye.”

Stiles nods but doesn’t speak again for a beat.  Instead, he considers Derek, eyes flicking over every inch of his body and his classroom in a practiced, methodical way.  

It makes something itch in Derek.  It feels like Stiles is grading his life’s work and deciding if he measures up—grading him.  He waits, and it’s not too long before Derek sees his eyes narrow and then his body relax. Stiles’ scent evens out to neutral and Derek is almost positive he can see the moment the man decides to trust him.  

“Erica and I weren’t dating.  We were kind of friends and packmates but we weren’t dating,” Stiles says quickly, trying to get the words out as fast as possible.  His heartbeat spikes and he wipes his palms on his pant legs as he keeps talking. “There was this Darach that was killing virgins and I was seventeen and a loser and she did me a solid.  

“I asked my best bro Scott but he’s not really into dudes and we were kind of worried that it might be a heteronormative evil druid, so Erica offered.  We were dumb kids. We didn’t know birth control didn’t work on werewolves. We didn’t have any help or contacts. Scott and the others were bit by a rogue that got put down by hunters.  Everything I know I learned on the fly.”

Derek wants to speak, to offer reassurances, but he’s too mesmerized by Stiles’ speech.  He doesn’t have the heart to interrupt so he just nods, mimicking Stiles’ movement when the man licks his lips.

“My dad flipped out.  He was the Sheriff and Erica’s mother was really religious so we got married immediately.  We were making it work. She didn’t really like me all that much, was kind of dating someone else until she realized she was pregnant… Let’s just say I wasn’t her first choice of husband.  I don’t think I would have been anyone’s first choice really, especially not at that age but, you know. We tried. In the end we didn’t get very long to—there wasn’t enough time to see if it ever would have worked out between us.

“She died and I named Erica after her and raised her the best I could with my father’s help.  I got through college mostly online and it was doable until my dad was killed last year—shootout at the station.  Lots of explosions,” he adds when he sees that Derek is about to ask. “There was an all-out war against the supernatural and some trouble with the FBI.  He made me take Erica and run and I did and he died anyway. So that’s it,” he says lamely, giving Derek a weak smile.

Derek returns it and waits while Stiles clears his throat and keeps talking.  

“I couldn’t stand to be there anymore.  Scott is still holding down the fort, but there was just so much death and danger.  It was no place to raise a child. We were there out of obligation more than anything.  My pops wasn’t abandoning his post and I wasn’t abandoning him or my friends but now…”

“You wanted a better life for Erica,” Derek finishes for him.  “I can appreciate that.”

“I work a lot.  Programming mostly.  My family has kind of been bankrupt by medical bills for my entire life so I do my best but I don’t get as much time with Erica as I’d like.  Clearly I’ve been letting some things slip,” Stiles says, shaking his head at himself.

“I can help.  My family could, too.  But they’re kind of a lot to handle,” Derek offers, lips twitching fondly.  “When Erica’s better trained we can let her loose with the rest of the kids, but for now why don’t we try just the three of us.”

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles says.  “I guess I’m just that desperate at this point.  Give me all your born-wolfy knowledge. My sources are clearly lacking.”

“Come on,” Derek says, pushing himself to his feet.  “Let’s get Erica from the cafeteria and we can talk about it over a pizza.”

“Thank fuck.  I’m starving. Do you know how hard it is to keep that kid fed?  She’s never not eating. Goes through her own weight in cheese and fruit every damn day, I swear,” Stiles says, crawling to the side to get off his bean bag and scrambling to his feet.  

Derek laughs, but probably more at the way Stiles is moving than his words.  “Let me get my mother in touch with your friend Scott, too,” he says conversationally as they leave classroom 107.  “Sounds like he could use some help.”


	6. Chapter 6

In the weeks that follow, it becomes a regular thing.  Derek waits for Stiles to pick Erica up from the after school program on Fridays and they go to Serpico’s for pizza—veggie lovers for Derek and sausage and pepperoni for Stiles.  Erica eats some of each, picking the mushrooms off her slices and dropping them on the side of Derek’s plate with a wry little smile. 

She talks nonstop, but then again, so does Stiles.  Derek mostly listens, following their rapid fire conversations to the best of his ability and offering commentary when his opinion is asked for.  If anyone at work has noticed that Derek has started spending a lot of extra time with one of his students and her father, they’ve been wise enough not to reprimand him for it.  

Most of the gossip he hears is positive in nature.  Mrs. Greenspring thinks it’s so nice that Stiles is finally done grieving.  Or at least that’s what she tells her daughter when Derek overhears them at the library.  Their usual waitress at Serpico’s thinks they make a cute couple and likes to tell the bartender how she pictures them having sex.  Repeatedly. And in great detail. Sometimes werewolf hearing is a blessing and a curse.

After dinner they take Erica to the preserve and let her work off her excess energy.  They work on shifting at will until Erica can flash her eyes and extend her claws whenever she likes.  By the second Friday she has her eyes bleeding into amber with just the twitch of her little upturned nose.  

When she’s tuckered out from chasing Derek and Stiles around the forest, they work on Erica’s breathing exercises with the addition of Derek’s triskele talisman and his mother’s mantra.  Always attentive and eager to learn, Stiles follows along and practices his own meditation. If Derek spends more time watching him when he has his eyes closed than Erica, there’s no one else around to call him on it.

Stiles wasn’t lying, he has done this before, and he does it well.  Derek learns about how he trained Scott with a heart rate monitor when they were teens and how his first Beta, Liam, was their most challenging “wolf child.”  The story of how Uncle Jackson turned from Kanima to Beta was particularly interesting. However, as impressed as he is with Stiles’ track record, there are still some things Derek can do that a human just can’t.

Derek shows Erica how to use her claws to climb trees and how to tune out distracting sounds.  He teaches her how to track a deer in the woods and how to hide from hunters. Derek passes on as much knowledge as he can and answers their questions to the best of his ability, even checking with his mom when he has to.  

It’s not until late April that Stiles asks him for something he’s not fully prepared to give.

“Are you ever going to tell me how you got your blue eyes?” Stiles asks as he bundles a sleeping Erica into her car seat after a particularly tiring evening in the preserve.

Pulling his glasses case out of his pocket, Derek busies himself with cleaning the lenses before moving to put them back on his face for the drive home.  

“Don’t hide from me,” Stiles says, reaching out and stopping his arm.  “You made me fess up to everything. Now I want to know what happened to you.”

Derek’s nostrils flare as he inhales.  It’s not something that he does. His family knows, of course, and they don’t blame him, but Derek has never told a friend or lover about his past.  

When Derek meets Stiles’ eyes, they’re soft and open—unguarded.  His scent is welcoming and light. It smells like sweat and the old blanket they sat on in the damp grass while they did their meditation, but somehow it also feels warm and dry like sitting in front of a fire on a winter evening. 

Swallowing hard, Derek pushes those thoughts away.  It wasn’t his fault and no one got hurt. He knows that, but sometimes he forgets.  Sometimes Derek forgets that he deserves to be happy, that he doesn’t need to be so angry at the world.  Sometimes he needs his mother to remind him, and that support system is something that Stiles doesn’t have anymore.  Stiles has no one but Erica and his friends back home. 

Derek wants to be that someone for Stiles.  Derek wants to be the person to remind him that he gets to have good things.  Maybe Derek can be one of those good things if he just asks.

Stiles’ hand is still on Derek’s forearm, his long fingers flexed and pressing into Derek’s skin.  With a tight nod, Derek puts his glasses back in their case and slips it back into his pocket. The movement dislodges Stiles’ hand, but Derek still feels the touch like it’s been tattooed on his arm with a blow torch.

“I—” Derek almost says  _ I killed my first girlfriend _ because it’s the truth, but that’s not how he wants to say it.  He can find a better truth than that, so he stops himself and tries again.  “I was dating a girl in high school. Her name was Paige.”

Stiles waits.  It’s his turn to wait.  

Derek tried to wait when Stiles told him about his past that day in the storytime corner but he kept pushing anyway, kept asking about Erica’s mother.  He didn’t let it rest. 

Stiles is waiting for him, and that’s what makes Derek keep talking, the fact that someone is giving him time and room to do it for himself.  Derek wants to be the kind of person Stiles would wait for, so he talks.

“I loved her and wanted to be with her forever.  We were fifteen,” he says with a dark chuckle, shaking his head.  “My uncle suggested that I get someone to give her the bite if I was so sure about her.  My mother wouldn’t do it. She has a strict rule against biting anyone under 18, so I waited until she was having a meeting with some other Alphas and I asked this guy named Ennis…”

It’s easier than Derek thought it would be—to tell this story.  He’s been pushing it down deep in his subconscious for so long that he’s surprised the words are coming out so smoothly.  

Maybe it’s something about the way Stiles is looking at him—no judgment, no pity, just patience.  It’s the kind of patience only someone who has parented a toddler on their own can muster. It’s the understanding of someone who has also hurt their loved ones, someone who has made mistakes and tough choices—killed others when they had to or when their body was not their own. 

“He bit her and it didn’t take.  She was dying in my arms. Slowly.  Painfully,” Derek says heart clenching sharply at the sense memory of the putrid black blood escaping Paige’s wound.  He will never forget the scent. “She asked for death so I killed her.”

Stiles nods once and reaches out a hand again, to his shoulder this time.  “Ennis is dead now, if that’s any comfort to you,” he says, squeezing gently.

“You knew him?  How did he die?” Derek asks, perking up despite himself.  

“Burned by a hellhound,” Stiles says, releasing Derek’s shoulder.  “My friend Jordan,” he adds when he sees Derek’s bemused expression.  “Right after Ennis killed Erica.”

“I’m so sorry,” Derek babbles as the picture coalesces in his mind’s eye.  “He just disappeared after Paige. My mother couldn’t find him, not even with all her contacts.”

“You were fifteen, Derek.  That wasn’t your fault,” Stiles says.  “I did all sorts of stupid shit when I was fifteen.  Like going out in the middle of the night to look for a dead body and getting my best friend bitten by a werewolf.”

“Were you stupid enough to do it again?  Because I was,” Derek says, growing angry with himself.  “Not even a year later I fell in love with a girl again. An older one.  Way too old for me. I should have known better but I didn’t,” he rants, fists clenched tight at his sides.  “She was a hunter. Nearly murdered my entire family once I told her everything she needed to know. If it wasn’t for—”

“—Deputy Stilinski?” Stiles cuts in, a proud little smile gracing his lips.

“Fuck,” Derek mutters as he puts all the pieces together.  “I think I blocked that entire day out. That was your dad, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says.  “It was a long time ago.  Back when my mom was sick.  I was young enough I didn’t get all the details.”

“He was the one to break the mountain ash.  Without him we would have all died,” Derek says, voice cracking.  “I never thanked him properly. Mom said he moved away.”

“We did move away,” Stiles says, reaching out for Derek’s arm once more.  “But not because of you. My mom died a week later. We couldn’t stay after that.”

The little threads that connect Derek and Stiles’ pasts keep piling up.  They feel like a net, weaving tighter and tighter together and dragging Derek into the deep until he feels like he’s drowning in the sorrow of past hurts. 

Stiles’ hand on his arm makes Derek’s skin sing.  It’s like a breath of fresh air. He wants to know what it feels like against his cheek, trailing up his throat, running through his hair. 

“I don’t remember her.  I barely remember your father.  I guess I was a little self-absorbed at that age,” Derek admits sadly.  “A hotshot, only cared about girls and basketball.”

“I didn’t remember you either, to be fair,” Stiles says. 

“Did your father tell you about it after?” Derek asks. 

“Well, yeah,” Stiles says with a snort.  “I was kind of an inquisitive kid. Think Erica but with even worse attention problems and a flagrant disregard for the law—plus I researched you.”

“You what?” Derek asks, folding his arms across his chest.  

“Don’t give me the mad teacher face.  I had to!”

“You  _ had _ to research me?  Why?” Derek asks, eyebrows high and jaw tight.

“I’m a parent, Derek.  An overprotective one. You really think I didn’t google my kid’s kindergarten teacher?” Stiles shoots back.

“You didn’t learn all that on Google!”

“Nah,” Stiles says with a smirk.  “I still have access to some police databases.  And government ones. But that’s really not the point.”

“No,” Derek says gruffly.  “The point is that you made me tell you about Paige and the fire when you already knew!  Why would you do that? I thought we were friends!”

“Okay one,” Stiles lists, holding up one long finger.  “I didn’t know about Paige and that is what I really asked.  And two,” he says, adding his middle finger, “I wanted you to tell me about the fire yourself.”

“Why?” Derek asks, searching Stiles’ face for any sign of deception.  His scent is neutral, happy even, and Derek’s mind races as he tries to come up with some sort of motivation for Stiles’ behavior.

“Because now I know you trust me.”

Derek just glares at him.  Without conscious thought he stands up straighter and puffs out his chest; intimidation is always his fallback position.

“Look,” Stiles says, talking with his hands.  “You know I trust you. I’ve been trusting you with my kid for months.  She idolizes you and I—I just wanted to know that it maybe wasn’t so one-sided.  That maybe—”

“—Daddy?” a small voice calls from the back seat.  

“Yeah, sweets?” Stiles asks.  He mouths  _ sorry _ to Derek before ducking his head to check on his daughter.  

“It’s bed time,” she says blearily, rubbing at her eyes with her chubby little fists.  “Can you read me Nancy Drew?”

“Of course I can,” Stiles says softly.  “Let me just say goodbye to Mister Hale,” he adds before rising to face Derek again.  “So… I—” 

“—It’s okay,” Derek says with a rueful little smile.  “I get it. You know what blue eyes mean and you wanted to protect her.”

“I know what blue eyes  _ can _ mean,” Stiles corrects.  “I wanted to know you.”

“I want to know you, too,” Derek says.  Going for broke, he reaches out his hand and catches Stiles’ wrist.  “I—”

“Daddy!  Nancy Drew was just about to find out where the locket went!”

“Coming, kiddo!” Stiles says, eyes still locked on Derek.  “I’ll text you,” he adds, pulling away but not without trailing his fingertips over Derek’s palm.

“Okay,” Derek says as he watches Stiles hop into the driver’s seat and start toward home.


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles meant it when he said he would text.  He texts non-stop at all hours. Derek has to put his phone on silent before heading to family breakfast because he knows someone will steal his phone to see who keeps blowing it up.  

It’s little things at first, a picture of Stiles’ morning coffee, a question about Derek’s favorite action film, an observation about how bright the moon looks.  Then it goes a little deeper, a recipe for his mother’s chestnut soup that he can’t get right, a book recommendation, a selfie of Stiles with Erica passed out on his chest.

By Wednesday night it’s a text that says:

_You don’t date women anymore, do you?_

Derek stares at his phone until the screen goes dim, unlocks it, and then does it again.  Finally, he taps out two letters and hits send.

**No.**

_I didn’t think so._

Scratching his beard, Derek paces his apartment with his phone in his hand, debating what he should say.  Is this flirting? Should Derek flirt back? It’s still only mid-May. There are three weeks left in the school year and Stiles is already flirting with him?  Couldn’t he wait until they broke for the summer before driving Derek completely insane with want?

Going for casual, Derek decides to answer the question like he would to a friend, half serious, half self-deprecating.

**I dated a Vampire once in college.  My family still refer to him as Edward.**

_No shit?  You are never going to live that down._

**I’m well aware.**   **How about you?**

Derek holds his breath after he sends it, but he has to ask.  Besides an off-hand comment about his best friend Scott, Stiles hasn’t given him a definitive answer about his sexuality.

_My list of exes includes a banshee, a werecoyote, a human, and a hellhound._

Derek rolls his eyes even though he’s alone.  That’s… not helpful. But wait, didn’t Stiles mention the hellhound… his friend Jordan?  Fuck. Jordan is unisex. Derek is completely fucked.

**Kitsune, fae, nymph, etc.**

_But not a human man?_

Breathing in deep and long, Derek clenches his jaw and goes for broke.

**Not yet.  You?**

_More of a friends with benefits situation, but yes._

**You’re still wearing your wedding ring.**

_It’s my father’s.  Not mine._

Derek can’t make himself do it.  It would just take a few words. Do you want to go on a date?  That’s all it would take, but still he’s hesitating. Thankfully, Stiles is braver than Derek will ever be.

_School is over on the 8th, isn’t it?_

**My grades are due June 1st.**

_Sounds like a date._

**Yeah.  It does.**

And then Derek gets a string of emojis that he has no hope of deciphering and decides it’s as good a time as any to go to bed.

The very next night, Derek is starting chapter 3 of the crime thriller Stiles recommended when his phone rings.  Stiles’ selfie pops up on his screen and he answers it on autopilot.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Derek?” Stiles’ panicked voice calls.  “I need you.”

“What happened?” he asks, snapping his book shut and patting his pocket to check for his keys.  

“Fangs happened, Derek.  FANGS! Erica, no!” he shouts over a loud rustling noise that could be anything.  There are little huffing snarled breaths interspersed as well that Derek can just barely hear over the shouting.

“Oh fuck, are you hurt?” he asks, rushing to the door to slip on his shoes.  

“There is some blood, yes,” Stiles says frantically.  “I just—Erica! You have to breathe!—I just don’t want to hurt her.”

“I’ll be right there.  Don’t worry,” Derek says, sliding his door open and dashing off down the hall without bothering to shut it.  “Stiles? Can you hear me?”

The line goes dead.

Even though he’s dying to dash off at werewolf speed, Derek gets into his car and drives over to Stiles and Erica’s apartment.  He can’t just sprint through town at a superhuman pace without drawing attention. Throwing the car into park and leaping out of the car, he doesn’t even bother to close the door before running up the unfamiliar steps.  

He lets his nose lead him through the building and down the hall.  The carpet is soft and worn under his leather soles and he slips a few times while listening closely for Erica and Stiles’ heartbeats.  They’re frantic and Derek smells blood so he pushes himself, going as fast as he can without arousing suspicion.

When he makes it to #4302, the door is locked.  He can hear wailing and rubber sliding across tile so using just the smallest amount of extra strength, Derek breaks the knob.

“Stiles?” Derek calls, darting through the door and attempting to lock it behind him.  It doesn’t work, so he grabs a nearby chair and shoves it under the knob. “Stiles?” he calls again, following the sound of sniffling and rapid heartbeats through the messy living room, down the hall, and into what must be Erica’s room.  

Laying facedown on the carpet is Stiles, who is bleeding profusely from the forearm and pleading with his daughter to calm down.  Erica is snarling and throwing herself at an invisible barrier that Derek automatically recognizes as mountain ash.

“Stiles?” Derek says, softer this time, treading lightly into the room.  “What happened?”

“I—” he tries to speak but there are tears in his eyes and his arm is shaking, patting desperately at the carpet trying to draw Erica’s attention to him.  “I don’t know what happened. I said no more fooling around, we were going to eat our vegetables and then we could have the rest of our dinner and she turned on me,” Stiles says, words flowing out of him in a rush.  “Erica, honey? Can you calm down for Daddy? We need to stop this now. Just breathe for me,” he pleads.

“Stiles,” Derek says again, crouching down on the carpet and reaching out a hand toward his back.  “I need to look at your arm,” he says, eyes on Erica, who is struggling against the barrier, blond curls plastered all over her shifted face.  She’s gnashing and growling and generally making a lot of noise. What they really need to do is calm her down and break the barrier, but Derek isn’t willing to do that until he’s sure Stiles is safe from harm.

“What you need to do is help my daughter,” Stiles argues, shooting a wounded look over his shoulder at Derek.

“I know you’re upset, but she’s actually okay,” Derek says, staring worriedly as Stiles’ blood drips sluggishly off his elbow and onto the carpet.  “Let me stop the bleeding and get you cleaned up and then we can help her together. She’s not in pain. She’s going to be fine.”

“I can’t—”

“—I know it’s hard to watch her like this,” Derek says, eyeing Erica warily.  She’s not feral, she’s just throwing a tantrum. Growing up with wolves, Derek has seen it all before.  There was one summer in particular that Cora decided she was going to live in a tree and would attempt to eat anyone who came near her perch.  “But I promise she’s okay. We need to get you fixed up first. You can’t help her if you pass out from blood loss, okay?”

“This is nothing,” Stiles says, staring down at his own arm.  “I’ve been witness to exsanguination before. This is just a scratch.”

“That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t bandage it up though, right?” Derek asks.  He suddenly feels like he’s negotiating with two kindergarteners instead of one.  

“Fine,” Stiles says, pushing himself off the floor with his good arm.  “We’ll be right back, kiddo. I promise you we’ll be right back. Just try to breathe for me, okay sweets?”

Erica glares at him with amber eyes, bitter and angry.  She’s not growling anymore, but she does have her teeth bared and is now attempting to claw her way out of the mountain ash barrier through the carpet.  

“It’s okay,” Derek says, pulling Stiles toward his own bathroom.  “She’s okay. Come on.”

“I’m a terrible father,” Stiles says as soon as they enter the bathroom.  “I locked my kid in a cage. I’m going to hell.”

“You’re human,” Derek says, taking the first aid kit from Stiles’ hands and pulling out some gauze and tape.  “You’re not terrible. You’re just human.”

“I get it,” Stiles says, brown eyes glinting in the harsh bathroom light.  “A wolf would be a better parent for her. You would be a better father for her.  I’m horrible at this.”

“That’s not what I meant at all,” Derek says, wetting a washcloth with antiseptic and carefully wiping the blood away from Stiles’ wound.  He holds Stiles’ arm steady with his other hand and slowly pulls some pain away. “No one would be a better father for Erica than you. No one could ever replace you or change what you have.  I’m just her teacher. You’re her world.”

“I can’t do this Derek.  I just locked my kid up in an invisible trap.  She was flinging herself against the walls to get at me.”

“She loves you,” Derek says easily.  “This is just new and overwhelming for her.  That doesn’t mean she loves you any less. I’ll teach her how to control it and everything will be fine,” he says, gently stroking the antiseptic down Stiles’ arm.  “Kids always behave the worst for their parents. You know this.”

Stiles stares, transfixed by the thin black tendrils that make their way up Derek’s forearm.  Reaching out, he traces them with his fingertips.

Derek’s breath catches in his throat at the soft touch.  It’s in complete contrast to the dull ache of Stiles’ second-hand pain that simmers just under his skin.  He tries to clear his throat and shake it off, but Stiles just starts staring into his eyes instead.

“You’re really good at this, you know?” Stiles says with a watery smile.  “You’ve got this whole ‘don’t fuck with me’ exterior but inside you’re just a huge marshmallow, aren’t you?”

“I don’t like marshmallows,” Derek says with a smirk as he cuts some gauze to fit Stiles’ wound and starts affixing it with tape.  “They get stuck in my scary fangs. I’m a terrifying creature of the night who only likes to eat adorable children, didn’t you hear?”

“Okay, fine,” Stiles says with a chuckle, still staring at Derek’s face even though he’s turned away.  “You don’t like marshmallows. I can come up with a different metaphor. What about—”

“—Daddy?”

Stiles is on his feet the instant he hears his daughter’s cry.

“Almost done,” Derek says, wrapping the bandage tape around Stiles’ arm and sticking it together.  “There. I’ll clean up in here. You go talk to her for a minute.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says, reaching out to cup Derek’s cheek with one hand.  “Really. Thank you.”

Derek’s hands are full of bloody gauze so he just nods and fights back a blush.  

Stiles is staring at him again and Derek is seconds away from turning his cheek into the man’s palm when they hear “Daddy?” again.

“Be right there, Erica,” Stiles shouts back, rubbing his thumb across Derek’s beard just once before leaving the room.

Taking a minute to collect himself, Derek washes down the sink and the floor and throws out everything that has blood on it.  He washes his hands thoroughly and then heads back to the bedroom to find Stiles has broken the mountain ash circle and has Erica bundled up in his lap.  

“I didn’t mean to!  I’m sorry!” she wails against his chest, speech slurred from her still present fangs.

“It’s okay, it’s all fine.  I’m not mad,” he mutters into her hair, stroking lightly.  

“Please don’t hate me,” Erica mutters into Stiles’ throat.

Swallowing down his tears, Stiles does his best to comfort her.  “I’ll never hate you. Not now, not ever. I’m so sorry I had to do that to you.  I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Daddy.  I hurt you.”

“You didn’t want to hurt me.  I understand. It’s okay.”

Derek feels like he’s intruding.  In any other circumstances, he would probably let himself out, but Erica’s still shifted and he has no way of knowing if Stiles will get hurt again if he walks out the door.  

“Mister Hale wants to help you learn how to keep yourself human when you get upset.  Is that alright?” Stiles asks, looking straight at Derek.

“Please,” Erica whines, still sniffling.  She wipes her nose on her father’s shirt and then looks up toward Derek with red-rimmed eyes.  Everything is shifted this time, her eyes, her face, her teeth, and her claws which are currently cutting holes in what Derek recognizes as one of Stiles’ favorite shirts.

“Let’s go to the living room while your dad cleans up in here, okay?” Derek says, crouching down on the floor to reach her level.

She holds out a tiny clawed hand and Derek takes it, lifting her easily and fitting her to his hip.  

 _Thank you_ , Stiles mouths at him as he starts collecting the shredded books and clawed up toys that have been littered around the room.  

Derek just smiles back and turns to leave the room.  He sits Erica down on the couch and crouches in front of her, a reassuring smile on his face.  “Can you tell me what happened to make your teeth change?” Derek asks, watching carefully as Erica gnaws on her bottom lip only to cut into her own mouth.  

It heals quickly though and Erica licks the drop of blood away to start speaking.  “I was mad at Daddy. He wanted me to eat peas.”

“Peas are good for you.  You need to eat good, healthy foods to have enough energy to play werewolf games.”

“But it’s Thursday and we don’t play werewolf games until Friday,” Erica whines.  “I want every day to be Friday.”

“Let me talk to your dad about that and we’ll see what we can do to expand your training.  But first,” Derek says, holding out his palms for Erica to trace, “let’s work on controlling this new aspect of your shift.  Where’s that talisman I gave you.”

“I think I threw it at Daddy’s head,” Erica says, twisting her lips and looking down to hide her shame.  

“It’s okay.  He knows you’re sorry.  Let me find it for you,” Derek says, reaching out to scent Erica’s hair.  It’s not something that he usually does. Erica isn’t his child and the whole idea of rubbing yourself against a student is something Derek really doesn’t want to think about too hard.  But right now, it’s clearly something they both need, so he waits a minute while Erica takes his other hand and brings it to her throat.

They stay there for a little while, just breathing and looking at each other.  That’s when it hits him. Erica is starting to smell like him. It was never his intention, but just spending enough time with her in school and in the preserve on Fridays has been enough.  They’re starting to smell like pack.

“I like when you smell like me,” Erica says mildly, nudging Derek’s hand with her head until he continues to pet her hair.  “And I think you like when you smell like us.”

“I do,” Derek says, because he won’t lie to her, not about something like this.  

“Good,” Erica says, the amber color of her eyes intensifying until Derek is compelled to flash his own blue back at her.  “That’s good because Daddy likes it, too.”

“He does?” Derek asks.  He’s kicking himself for sounding so hopeful, but he really can’t help it.  If he has to gossip with a six-year-old to find out what Stiles feels for him, he’s willing to do it.

“He likes the way your sweaters smell.  I can tell,” she says conspiratorially, forming the words carefully around her extended teeth.  

“That’s good,” Derek says, waiting with bated breath.

“We could make every day Friday if you lived here,” Erica points out, leaning forward until Derek’s thumb rests just under her chin.  “Maybe you should talk to Daddy about that.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Derek says, smiling fondly at her.  He rubs his thumb around her jaw and to her cheek, getting a little emotional when she leans into his touch the same way he did with Stiles in the bathroom not ten minutes ago.

“Can you show me how to put the teeth away?” she asks, accidentally snagging her tongue on one of her canines as she attempts to lick her lips.  “They’re really annoying.”

“Yeah, one second,” he says, leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead.  “Let me find the triskele and we’ll work on your focus.”

Walking to the middle of the room, Derek breathes deeply and scents the air.  It’s subtle, but he can smell it. It’s metal overlayed with the spicy, homey scent that comes from hundreds of Hales having touched the talisman.  Dropping to his knees, Derek follows the trail a few feet and reaches under a cabinet to feel around for the object.

When he pulls it out, it’s covered in dust bunnies that he wipes off on his pant leg.  Turning the metal over in his hand, Derek catches a hint of something new. He brings the triskele up to his face and flares his nostrils, taking in the scent of Erica and Stiles, fresh and clean and now blending into the ancient scent of his pack.

“Are you sniffing that thing?” Stiles’ voice says, pulling him out of his observations.  “Tell me you’re not sniffing that thing.”

“I’m not sniffing it,” Derek says, quickly pulling the talisman away from his face.

“You so totally were,” Stiles says, smirking at him.  “You’re into it, you big weirdo!”

“It’s not weird,” Derek says defensively.  “Not for werewolves. Ask your daughter. She’ll tell you all about it.”

“Or you could just tell me,” Stiles says, taking a few steps forward and putting himself directly into Derek’s personal space.  “It’s not hard, Derek,” he goes on, smile growing, eyes sparkling behind his thick-framed glasses. “Just say, ‘Stiles, I like the way you smell.  It turns me on and I’d like to make out now, please.’”

Derek inhales deeply, crossing his arms over his chest.  What has he gotten himself into? “I hate you so much right now,” he says.

“That’s not what I heard.”

“And what did you hear?” Derek asks, eyes flicking between Stiles’ eyes and the mole that sits just to the side of his mouth, the one he’s been thinking about kissing for months.

“I heard, ‘I think Stiles should kiss me.’”

“You heard right,” Derek says, unfolding his arms and letting Stiles step right up to him until they’re chest to chest.  Long arms wrap around his neck and before he can think about the fact that Erica is sitting not three feet away, Stiles’ lips are on his, firm and committed to the action.

Derek leans into it, opening his mouth to let Stiles’ tongue in while at the same time feeling a small tap on his right hand.  Backing away slightly to look while still caught in Stiles’ embrace, Derek finds Erica pulling at his fingers. He releases the talisman, letting her clutch it to her chest.  

She narrows her amber eyes, looking between Derek and her father with suspicion that bleeds quickly into acceptance.  “I’ll be in my room,” she says simply, shooting a small smile over her shoulder at the two men as she walks down the hall.  “I need Mister Hale when you’re done with him,” she adds, looking directly at her father.


	8. Epilogue

**Three months later**

“Why wouldn’t they like you, sweets?” Derek asks, looking at Erica in his rearview mirror.  They bought a second booster seat for her the morning after Derek and Stiles first slept together which was exactly ten minutes after he submitted his grades for the year.  The irony is not lost on Derek, but if he’s smitten with his boyfriend, being equally smitten with his boyfriend’s daughter doesn’t seem like the worst thing in the world.

“Because I’m not family?” Erica says, frowning as she stares out the window.  

“You might not be family but you can still be pack,” Derek says, smiling at her and trying to catch her eye in the mirror.  

“Derek’s right,” Stiles says, reaching out to grip Derek’s thigh.  “You can be pack with the Hales and still be family with Uncle Jackson and Uncle Scott and everyone else back home.  And who knows, maybe one day we’ll all be one big pack together.”

“Really?” Eric asks, curls bouncing as her head snaps forward.  

“Yeah, Stiles… Really?” Derek echoes, raising his eyebrows in question.  

“I don’t see why not,” Stiles says, drawing his hand back to leave it palm up on the center console.  “If everyone wants to be. I don’t see why we couldn’t be pack and family.”

Eyes darting between Stiles’ hand and the road ahead, Derek considers the offer for all of three seconds before twining their fingers together.  

“He’s right, Erica,” he says, squeezing Stiles’ hand tightly.  “We can be pack and family. Whenever we’re ready,” he says to Stiles, enjoying the way he licks his lips and winks at him when he thinks Erica isn’t looking.  “Whenever you’re ready,” he adds, looking at Erica in the rearview mirror. 

“I think maybe I should meet them first,” she says, shrugging her shoulders.  “They might be mean.”

“You think the people that raised Derek are going to be mean?” Stiles asks, turning around in his seat to look at his daughter.  “I don’t see how that’s possible.”

“You haven’t met my uncle yet,” Derek mutters to Stiles as he turns into the preserve entrance with his left hand.  “My mom you’ll like. And probably Cora, too,” he adds.

“What’s wrong with your dad, then?” Stiles asks, fiddling with the wedding ring he recently moved to his right hand.  

“He’s too attractive,” Derek says, raising his eyebrows at Stiles.  “You get one look at him you might not want me anymore.”

“I don’t think so,” Stiles says, peering through the window as they pull up to the Manor.  “You’re the sexiest werewolf I know.”

“What about Uncle Jackson?” Erica asks, practically bouncing out of her seat when Derek puts the car in park.

“I don’t know, Erica.  What about Uncle Jackson?” Derek asks, pursing his lips.  

“He’s got nothing on you,” Stiles assures him as they exit the car.  Erica unbuckles herself and joins them on the front steps, stepping between them to hold hands with both of them.  

“There you are!” Derek’s mother says, opening the door immediately.  “You’re very late, Derek.”

“I’m not late.  I told Cora she was in charge of the pancakes this week.  I’m right on time to eat breakfast,” Derek protests, smiling when he feels Erica’s hand squeeze tight around his fingers.  “Erica, Stiles,” he says, “this is my mother, Talia.”

“Nice to meet you,” Erica says, dropping Stiles’ hand to hold it out for Talia to shake.  

“Nice to meet you, too,” Talia says with a smile, shaking Erica’s hand.  “And Stiles, it’s so nice to see you again. I think the last time I saw you you were 8 or 9.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says, pushing his glasses up his nose and then holding out his hand as well.  “Nice to meet you. As an adult, I guess…”

Talia ignores his hand and goes in for a hug.  Surprisingly, Stiles accepts it and squeezes her back.  “Please, come inside,” she says, leading Stiles by the hand.  

Not usually a shy child, Derek is taken aback when Erica holds out her arms asking to be picked up.  “What’s the matter?” he asks, lifting her into his arms. “You don’t want to meet my family?”

She buries her face in Derek’s throat and mutters, “What if they’re better werewolves than me?”

“If they’re better werewolves than you it’s just because they’re older, not because you’re still training,” Derek says, stroking a hand over the back of her head.  “Come on. They’ll be nice. I promise.”

“Okay,” she says, clutching a completely human hand in the neck of Derek’s sweater.  “We can go.”

“Good,” Derek says, following along after Stiles and his mother.  

When they reach the kitchen, it’s mayhem as usual.  Mateo and Elena are already rolling around on the carpet, each attempting to pin one of Uncle Peter’s arms to the ground.  There are yips and snarls and all manner of other inhuman noises coming from the scuffle. 

“Everyone,” Derek calls, cutting through the noise.  “This is Erica. Erica, this is everyone.”

The kids introduce themselves, leaving Peter in the dust.  “You want to go play?” Derek asks as soon as he hears Erica’s heartbeat even out.  She slowly releases her grip on his shirt and nods emphatically. 

“Breakfast is in ten minutes!” Laura calls from the stove as her two younger children run off into the yard with Erica hot on their heels.

Derek glides over to Stiles’ side, wrapping an arm around his waist.  “Okay?” he asks.

“Good coffee,” Stiles mutters by way of an answer, hiding his face in his mug.  

“I know they’re a lot.  Just try to relax,” Derek mutters into his ear, painfully aware that the rest of the family save Marisol can hear every word he says.  There are footfalls on the stairs and before Derek can issue another warning, his father appears in the doorway.

“I don’t know, Derek,” Dad says, resting his forearms on either side of the doorframe.  “He looks like he hasn’t been getting much sleep.”

Stiles’ cheeks pink up as he takes in the sight of Joseph Hale for the first time.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Derek,” he says, schooling his features quickly.  “He doesn’t look like my type at all.”

“Gross!” Marisol says without looking up from her phone.  “Do you guys have to be so weird about sex all the time? You’re like all old and stuff.”

“We’re not that old,” Derek says quickly.  “Just because we have a kid doesn’t mean we’re old.”

“We?” Stiles asks, leaning into Derek’s side.  

“Yeah,” Derek says, ignoring the rest of his family for a moment as he searches Stiles’ eyes for any doubt.  When he finds none he leans in for a kiss and says one more word against Stiles’ lips. 

“We.”


End file.
